


scary gay angel

by bigender dean winchester (homosexualitie)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s04e01 Lazarus Rising, Gen, Heresy, It/Its pronouns for Castiel, Scary Castiel (Supernatural), There's some light body horror but it's not bad at all, as in. biblical heresy.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:28:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28443177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homosexualitie/pseuds/bigender%20dean%20winchester
Summary: Basically a rewrite of Castiel's introduction scene in 4x01 except he's slightly more terrifying and Dean's slightly more bitchy. Mostly recycled dialogue from lazarus rising but there's a little original stuff in there.
Kudos: 7





	scary gay angel

Looking at the creature called Castiel is like looking too long into a fluorescent light bulb. It wears a meatsuit, but there’s light streaming out of all the wrong places— its head is almost haloed with that bright white light, and there’s a buzzing coming from somewhere near them. There’s the unmistakable smell of singed flesh hanging in the air, as if the creature is burning its vessel from the inside out. The hole where Dean stabbed the creature leaks blood, but it emits light too, that same fluorescent light, buzzing and strange.

The creatures Dean hunts are always close enough to human to be nearly indistinguishable. Even demons only show themselves with their unnatural eyes. This thing, even though it clearly occupies a human body, couldn’t be further from human. It’s emitting its own light, for Christ’s sake. 

Pushing down his fear, Dean kneels down next to Bobby, collapsed from whatever this thing did to him. He checks for a pulse frantically. 

Castiel looks at Dean as if it’s curious, but Dean isn’t sure if such a creature  _ can _ feel curious. Or any human emotion, for that matter. But it tilts its head, meets Dean’s eyes with an inscrutable expression. 

Bobby’s alive, and Dean breathes a sigh of relief before he stands up. Best not to let this thing get the jump on him. 

“What are you?” he asks. 

“I am an angel of the LORD,” it says. Or it doesn’t say, because that’s too small a word for this monstrous utterance, this earth-shaking sound that rattles the foundation of the barn they’re standing in. It sounds like hurricane winds blowing, it sounds like an earthquake.

There’s something  _ off _ about the way it speaks, where all the words come out sounding jumbled and false. As if it’s never spoken before, and is relying on instinct and muscle memory. 

Dean covers his ears. 

“There’s no such thing,” he says, almost shouting to be heard over the storm outside. 

Castiel glares. “This is Your problem, Dean,” it says. “You have no faith.” 

Dean’s about to give this thing a piece of his mind, but lightning flashes outside, illuminating the creature. He can’t see anything clearly, but he can just make out the stark shadow of wings on the wall. They’re fucking enormous, they’re the most monstrous thing he’s ever seen, and they’re attached to this creature. This  _ angel _ . 

It’s terrifying, but Dean would never admit it. 

The angel takes a step forward. “Do not be afraid,” it commands. Dean recognizes the biblical allusion for what it is, and wonders if the angel is making a joke. If angels even know  _ how _ to make jokes. 

And can Castiel read his mind? Does it know what he feels? 

Dean takes a step back. “You burned out that woman’s eyes,” he says, trying to keep his voice even. The angel tilts its head and squints its eyes, takes another step forward. Dean stands still. He’s not sure if he even could move if he tried. 

Whatever power this creature has, it’s  _ strong _ . Dean feels a pull towards Castiel. He hears a high pitched whine in his ears, like microphone feedback. His skin itches and his head pounds. Whatever happened to Pamela, Dean might be the next victim. 

“It is dangerous to look upon my true form,” the angel (if it really  _ is _ an angel) says. It adds, “But I mean You no harm, Dean Winchester.”

When the angel addresses him, it sounds wrong. The ‘you’ echoes with much more importance than Dean deserves, like it’s a sacred word. The way it’s written in the Bible, in all capitals and italicised. And when the angel says his name, Dean hears radio static buzzing. He can’t tell if it’s from his own head or the angel or something more powerful. He’s not even sure if there  _ is _ something more powerful. 

There’s music playing, distant and quiet and muffled by the static. It morphs into a cacophony of distant and discordant voices, like too many radio stations playing at once, and a lightbulb shatters. 

At that, the music stops. Everything stops. The storm outside quiets and the wind stops howling. The air feels charged with something unspeakably powerful. 

“Why did you pull me out of Hell?” Dean demands, setting his jaw. 

The angel looks him over, eyes dark. “Good things do happen, Dean,” it says. 

Dean bites back a laugh. Like this fucking thing is  _ good _ . It burned out a woman’s eyes, it could destroy a building with a wave of its hand. “Not in my experience,” he replies.

Castiel gets up in his face, just inches away. “What’s the matter?” it asks. It tilts its head and studies Dean’s face. Dean feels like it can see directly into his mind, can see everything he thinks and feels. If it pulled him out of Hell, that might be an accurate assumption.

The angel finishes its assessment of Dean, and says, in an incredulous voice, “You don’t think You deserve to be saved.”

Dean hates this fucking angel with every bone in his body. Not because it’s wrong, but because it still addresses Dean like he’s holy, like Dean deserved better than Hell. But Dean  _ didn’t _ deserve to be saved, not after everything he did in life, and not after— well, not after what he did as a hunter. Nothing else. 

Instead of hitting Castiel, Dean presses his anger down and asks, “Why did you do it?”

The angel tilts its head again, like Dean is a particularly interesting bug. “Because Heaven has work for You.” 

The high pitched whine comes back in full force, that microphone-feedback sound, piercing Dean’s ears. Castiel watches him intently. Dean doesn’t move, doesn’t even flinch. He’s not gonna give this thing the satisfaction of showing his fear. 

Outside, the storm starts back up, the wind rattling the walls of the barn and thunder rumbling in the distance. 

Dean glares at Castiel. “I’m not scared of you,” he says. The angel tilts its head again, its expression impossible to read. Dean thinks this thing might hate him. Or maybe it’s like a person looking at a fly buzzing around their head— a minor annoyance, but one that barely registers at all. 

The angel’s voice is low and dangerous when it says, “You should show some respect. I dragged You out of Hell. I can put You back in.” It’s almost as if the storm outside is responding to Castiel, because a long low rumble of thunder starts up, so loud that it shakes the ground under Dean’s feet. 

Dean smells burning, burning flesh, and feels a flash of pain. He can’t tell if it’s a phantom pain or something this angel is doing to him, some angelic power he isn’t aware of. Whatever confidence Dean had, it’s melted away by now, and he’s standing less than a foot away from the thing that pulled him out of Hell, branded him with its mark, and it’s the most powerful thing he’s ever seen. 

Demons, Dean can talk back to, because he knows how to kill them, knows their weaknesses. This angel is too fucking powerful to kill. The only leg up Dean has is that this angel  _ needs _ him for something. And, all things considered, that’s not much of a leg up. 

But it’s just looking at him, watching him and... waiting. At least, that’s what Dean thinks it’s doing. He’s not sure, really, he can’t read the expression on its face. 

“What do you  _ want _ ?” he asks finally. Castiel frowns. 

“I told You,” it announces, its voice shaking the walls. “Heaven has work for You.”

Dean pauses. He’s not sure what gives him the confidence to keep talking, but he does, leaning forward and asking, “I know heaven wants my ass, but what do  _ you _ want? Why are  _ you _ here?” 

That gives Castiel pause. It stops moving completely for a second, and the fluorescent light haloing its head gets stronger, the buzzing louder. Dean covers his eyes with his hand, flinching away from the brightness.

“I...” it says, faltering. 

Dean grins.  _ Now  _ he knows how to get under this thing’s skin. He stays where he is, and continues, “why do  _ you _ want-”

He’s cut off by a flash of light and the flap of wings. When the light fades, the angel is gone, and Dean’s standing in an empty barn covered in sigils, left with only the fading scent of burning flesh. 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on tumblr @communistdean where i occasionally clown on destiel shippers


End file.
